


Ludomania

by lamebear



Category: Marvel (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bromance, Dog Fighting, Drinking, F/F, F/M, Gambling, Gen, Horse Racing, M/M, Multi, Other, pseudo-shitty-boondocks-of-Las-Vegas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamebear/pseuds/lamebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ludomania retells Thor and Loki's tale of fraternal struggle set against a robust, ultra realistic backdrop of gambling and crime. </p><p>(A.K.A. Loki has a gambling problem and Thor 'n friends help him get over it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cherry Cordial

**Author's Note:**

> Co-authored by dudewrath-the-exalted.tumblr.com/ (he doesn't have an AO3 considering we just wrote this on a whim)
> 
> All the relationships listed above are bromances. Slash if you squint. Except Thunderbeardson's.
> 
> Explanation of why the hell we wrote this at the end. 
> 
> Some quick notes:
> 
> 1\. We've never gambled  
> 2\. We've never gone bar hopping; we've never even considered drinking  
> 3\. We've no idea how a horse track works nor been to either: horse track, bar, dog fighting ring, Vegas Casinos, boondocks, warehouses, etc.  
> 4\. We did do extensive research, Wikipedia, on gambling addiction; yeah go team!  
> and most importantly  
> 5\. We're big babies with big minds and a vocabulary index to fill a small Bernstein Bears book.

The underbelly of a summer sky rolled languidly, smothering the air below. The last few days of rain that sunk into the earth, was now seeping out to the surface. Loki “Low Key” Odinson had to make note of this. Too much mud meant changing traction, a horse needed to recover from lost footing. Looks like he would be betting on Cherry Cordial instead of Stratos. Yes, moisture would definitely be a factor, but not a problem; few things were a problem for Low Key.

His pockets were saturated with dollar bills like the air was saturated with choking humidity. It would be foolhardy to carry cash like this.  

 

At this moment, observe him in his essence:

 

A man with the appearance of one brash and unthinking, Loki sunk a toe into the muck, falling to the ground. Some Good Samaritan came up to help him up as a wad of money bound in rubber bands rolls out of a loose sleeve. Loki snatched the bills in hand, depositing them in the palm of this oh so charitable stranger.

Loki was pulled onto his feet, and, for a brief moment, they were breathing the same air, cloyingly thick with a liquor smell stuck on the unshaven face of this squat heel.  

 

The man whispered, “Which horse, mate?”

Loki murmured the name under his breath, “Put it on Cordial, all of it.”

 

“Brash mate, good luck getting all this money back.”

 

“Trust me”, Loki pressed the hushed words through ventriloquist lips and goes off in stride, partly to hide his bet, partly because another breath of this man’s beer-and-vodka fumes could knock anybody of a mortal inclination into catatonia.

 

At that, the fool demonstrated himself. The jester is a king, the fool a ringleader. His fall shows his grace, his stupidity illuminates a kind of brilliance.

 

The chances were stacked against Cherry Cordial 18 to one.

 

In a few hours, Cherry Cordial will barely take first at the race’s climax. Against all odds, that underdog will win, and Loki will pay back close to 45 people almost twice what they handed him, and still have a decent reward left over.

 

Majoring in Probability Theory taught Loki that luck did not exist.

 

A slot machine is just glorified clockwork; if they showed the parts, Loki could tell you the result.

 

Everything from the shape of the horseshoes to the muscles of the horses to the bumps and fringes carved into the soil spoke volumes of the race. Most days he could pinpoint the first five places in every race. If that became uncertain, he’d rig it.

 

One of the bookies doled him the cash through grubby fingers. Loki collected each bill, twisting them up in purple rubber binding and placing them in his pocket. The bookie looked at him inquisitively, “I don’t get it, everything was against that damn horse, and you win. You rigged it, didn’t you?”

Loki scoffed, placing a cigarette between pursed lips and lighting it with a whisper of burnt butane from his lighter, “Odds are dictated by people. Stupid little men who settle in their stagnant ignorance and call it knowledge. People would still think the sun went around the world if there wasn’t anyone to tell them otherwise.”

“Alright, Icarus.”

“Copernicus,” corrected Loki in his controlled tone as ribbons of blue smoke billow from his lips.

 

“I still don’t like you pulling this shit, Loki. I’m losing all my customers, save for your smart ass. Just because your dad runs the-”

“My father is not a factor in this, proof that you are dictated by the assurance of an ignoramus,” Loki retorted. For a moment, his cool eyes stung sharp like sleet. A slow thaw back to his normal self. “Good night, Dvallin.”

  
In the fumes of quiet brooding, Loki walked through the muted heat of the night to the parking lot.  


	2. The Heir Apparent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor and Odin share a contemplative father-son moment.

An incessant rhythm of beats introduces a new nail into the mess of drywall and driftwood so hastily merged from time after time of repair on that same living wood corner. Thor grumbles to himself as he aims for the last nail just right to keep the stable structure well . . . stable.

The son of the track owner should be behind a desk, or in the owner’s booth, not cleaning up the mess left by jockeys and their dumb horses, but Thor was a varsity football player, not some business school student. The track might be in his inheritance, but it wasn’t on his mind.

The final hammer strike sounds his break, and he walks out into the night air. Loki’s car was rolling off the lot. Thor never knew what he did these nights, nor did he really care. Loki was peculiar, but he could handle himself.

Thor walked in the door of the track’s commodity filled casino. His father sat there at a table, out of place against this maroon lobby full of trash and smelling of drunkard piss. Odin belonged in a rotating chair in the top floor of a shimmering skyscraper. Everything from his suit to his dignified face bore the air of someone who looked out of place in a normal man’s world. Even with his red wine colored suit crumpled, his hair mussed, and his eye heavy with exhaustion, Odin was the wolf to lead his troubled pack.

Thor pulled heavy work gloves off his hands, throwing them on the table between him and his father, and sitting opposite the tired patriarch. “Hey, Dad. How goes it?”

 

“I am tired, Thor. I bear a great burden.”

 

“When these jockeys ride their animals, you ride the world. It must take a lot not to be bucked off.” Thor grinned.

Odin chuckled as he began to sink into himself in lethargy. “I feel that you sympathize far too much for a child unwilling to take my position.”

A silent tension grasped the air. An old argument between father and son, in which the impending outcome now hangs overhead like a coming storm, still unwilling to shed its rain. A drum of distant thunder pounding arrhythmic thunder like the strumming of a shriveling heart. Odin had the stature of a great man, but within, he was still old, a man dwarfed in the shadow of his legacy. His body was worn and weathered for the endeavors of a pioneering businessman. He lived his life so quick, he rode so high, only to age so early and fall so hard.

Thor shook his head. It was no riddle between the two that his father could not be the immortal name his legacy had writ. Thor resisted the throne not for his own irresponsibility. Once that seat was filled, there would be none above him.

 

Thor knows Odin cannot last forever.

 

Thor doesn’t want to rule under the childish impression that if he could only keep a young man’s job, Odin can keep living. If Thor can stay small, his father can stay great.

He knows this is not true, but in his heart, it is a fantasy he clings to; an anchor to the sentiments of a child.

Odin knows the treachery of his own mortality. His weak heart is the company’s weak heart, Thor’s vigor is the blood to keep the company alive, and the time for that succession draws ever nearer. Odin’s name may fall from grace, but it will fall from the precipice of a living empire; he takes small comfort in knowing that he has built such a great empire for his children. To see the empire crash down with him from his son’s fear would only deepen his ruination.

Thor wrings his hands in exhaustion, shaking the work out of them and feeling the digits relax. He took a deep breath, looking over the trash in the wake of the raucous crowd so regular to their establishment. The custodians had begun their task of cleaning out, and nothing remained but the deep silence as the last few cars pulled out of the lot.

 

Thor placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Come on, I will drive you home.”

 

In moments, the two sat within a car that slid along the expanse of road ahead. Lonely buildings sat in the underwhelming glow of weak neon. Thor sat, his face furrowed in his concern.  Finally, he spoke, “Should we tell him?”

“Tell who what,” Odin said gruffly.

 

“Loki, about your… condition.”

 

“Loki is…” Odin struggled for words for a moment, “Loki is a sensitive case. When my condition is more defined, I will tell him.”

“Why?  What has Loki done to deny him the right to know?”

 

“Loki is trained in the niceties of corporate duty, but he is unpredictable. In his caprice, he may bet away this track.”

“He may have a habit of betting on horses, but he is completely capable of taking care of the business,” Thor hesitated before muttering to himself, “More capable than me anyway.”

Thor continued, “Besides, he wins every bet.”

“That is what concerns me. I fear he has been sabotaging the races behind my back. No person has ever won such bets.”

Thor frowned, “How can you be so suspicious of your own son?”

Odin inhaled deeply, looking out into the night with a mixture of guilt and hesitation, “You will understand eventually.”

Thor spared a quick glance at his father before returning to the road, “No…I don’t really think I will.” Thor may be the biggest, kindest of fools, but a fool all the same.

Odin finally spoke, “I trust you, Thor.  You may be unwilling, but you have an honesty. I love Loki, but I trust you to take my stead in a way I could not with him.”

 

“I do not fully understand why you think less of him and I wish you would show your love to him more.”

Odin stroked his beard, “Leaving him to his own devices is the best way I know to do this.”

Thor understood this at least. Ever since him and Loki were children, Loki would always shy away from help while Thor cried for their mother. Funny how a boy so gaunt and scrawny had a resolve so strong.

“As our father, I respect your decision, even though I do not fully agree with it.” Thor gave a curt nod.

The rest of the car ride home was in contemplative silence. As they passed a bar lit in pallid green, Thor could have sworn he saw Loki entering the building in that brief moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dude-wrath: Doing the characterization for Thor and Odin was fun. It’s enjoyable to kind of analyze the motivation behinds characters and make them more relatable that way. In retrospect perhaps it could have been done in dialogue or more subtly, but I am satisfied with how it turned out.


	3. Dives and Deep Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki ends up plastered and Sigyn cleans up after him.
> 
> (Warning: Pretty foul and inappropriate language used for this chapter)

There was no joy in predictability. Loki’s winnings made him a fortune, but it was a boring profession, like any salaryman punching in numbers and filling out forms. Loki felt that the worst part of being a part of the normal human rabble would not be the fruitlessness, but the boredom in their lives.

It was that nagging notion that brought him to these places. Pool tables, cards, unfamiliar things. He liked being in control, but sometimes removing one’s own comforts is what brings a person back to life. Anyone can become a machine as long as they know they’re safe getting away with the same motions of a mundane life.

He had bet once or twice, and it was a painful thrill to lose because it reminded him he could. It was a liberation from the defined. Many gamblers say their rush comes from winning, but every gambler knows that it is the losing that they revel in. Loki is no exception from the mass of gambling addicts. In all his efforts to be above the normal man, he falls to their same folly.

Most people here didn’t show their face at the track, but he had seen a few of these people there.  Loki felt like he was uprooting a log, turning over a stone, and showing all the maggots and loathsome things in their habitat, unlike the night crawlers stranded in the sun for those few moments before plunging into the darkness of these seedy places. Standing in here, choking in the tangible miasma of smoke and the smell of liquor soaked shame, Loki became the everyman on some level. He was embracing vulnerability. Even in his designer clothing and his air of condescension, Loki was among the ordinary. Loki was ordinary.  
  
Comfort can be found by feeling small, Loki thought. This is why some men sought God, or why some desired strong government.  Humanity was a clutch of orphans scrambling for parents; underlings scrambling for a sense of order. Cattle seeking to be ruled, subjugated even.  And here, Loki was one of them. He had given up pride for powerlessness, and become a child in the hands of chance. Loki grimaced at himself for his folly, taking the bait and knowing of the snare. Sometimes, Loki envied stupidity. These fools had no idea what their lives had been turning into, and that ignorance kept them sane, he thought.

The bartender was a hulking man with hate in his eyes.  His greasy beard spread over the off color shirt with “Lars” sewn in, the stitching now coming apart. He had a penchant to hate anyone with a clean shaven face, except for women. But even then it was questionable, at least that what was inferred by his constantly calling every one of them a bitch.

“Oi poof. You gonna order something to drink, an appletini or whatever?” he grunted.

“Your wit is more biting than the cloying swill you peddle,” Loki joked. His eyes spat venom, but he grinned out at the man.

‘Lars’ snorted, “Yea laddie. Ya do whatever ya please. Just make sure ya pay what ya owe before ya leave. I’ve seen too many trying to leave with heavy debts and fail miserably.” Lars points to the few bouncers mulling around the crowds, not suspiciously undercover at all.

Lars pushed a few buttons with his grubby fingers, turning on an old ZZ Top track before using an old rag to clean out a glass while Loki ordered his drink. “Give me a Green Island.” Loki took a moment to wonder if such an uncultured swine would even understand any drink name besides Guinness. He felt a bit of satisfaction when the barkeep reached the vodka.

Lars spoke, unwilling to take his eyes off his dutiful wiping of the filthy glass, “I hear about you from my mates, kid. Rumor has it ya just win every game put in front of ya. All the other pissyellow fags too gutless to bet dump their cash on ya, right?”

“In a matter of speaking.”

“My mates don’t like that. Your little games is making everybody nervous about bettin’.”

“Condolences, mate," Loki said before taking some of his drink.

“Listen, horsefucker. Ya know about your daddy’s races, but what do ya know about mutts?”

Loki’s interest was piqued.

“What of hounds? Are we talking, a platinum plated woman’s purse accessories, or dog racing?” Loki had dealt with dog racing before for a while, but his enthusiasm for the poor things waned when he realized nearly all the greyhounds were nervous wrecks and, thus, easily predictable. Chasing the goddamn mechanical rabbit. It’s like they were taunting how mechanical is was.

“Scraps, fairy boy.”

“Dogfigh-” Loki caught himself and leaned in, speaking in hushed tones, “dogfights?”

“Yea, fuckin’ pitbull boxing.” Lars glanced at a large man and gave a slight nod, sending the man away from wandering too close to their conversation to slowly urging customers away from the bar.

Loki was not one to watch brutality. Let alone animal brutality. It wasn’t so much morality as it was taste. These neanderthals liked seeing blood spilt, not him. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but let himself be taken in. A small part of his brain screamed for the risk entailed in that gruesome testament to barbarism. Loki quickly smothered the cry and tried to think logically. Addiction doesn’t think logically, and he was definitely not an addict. He could control his impulses because he was Loki motherfuckin’ Odinson.

“Another drink?” Lars offered up to Loki, almost a friendly gesture. It was a different mixture, but looked extremely enticing.

Before Loki could answer, his phone vibrated. **NEW TEXT MESSAGE** was burned into the glowing screen.

“ **Where r u?** ” From his beloved brother, Thor. Big, strong, dickhead Thor.

Loki scowled at his phone and promptly ignored it.

“Yes, thank you,” he answered to Lars.  Some stupidity, taking the offering like this. It felt like he was addicted to stupidity more than anything else. You can chew or smoke for Nicotine, but with stupidity, the world is one big fucking hit.

“So, my cousin runs an operation behind the Jotunheim shipyard.  Are ya interested?”

 

Another compassionate love letter of fraternity jolts Loki out of his thinking as the gentle hum of his pocket demands his attention.

Thor again.

“ **Its 2 am please come home soon. Dad’s worried.** ”

Loki rolled his eyes. No, he thought to himself, Odin would never worry about him. It was Thor substituting himself with another again. Another drink. Another bump up in the blood alcohol. Damn you Thor, damn you perfect, desired, pleasant, stupid Thor. Delivering messages of love like sponsorship letters to a starving child. How can someone so loved understand the pain of someone so lost? Fucking pitiful to have to wonder whether Thor is condescending or just stupid.

  
Lars waits patiently for an answer as Loki finishes his drink in one go.

“If you give me a time, I’ll show,” Loki said slowly, a slight slur in his words.

Loki had been knocked out, his toothpick resolve soaked in vodka. Lars left a note scrawled in a paper napkin with the time and place, “Ask for Durinn when you get there.”

Loki nodded, crumpling up the napkin in his hand and slipping it into a pocket. With a gait part swagger, part stagger, and nothing else to do for the night, he wanders around the bar.

Lars chuckles to himself in amusement as Loki leaves the bar area.

The rest of the night ends in a drunken blur for Loki. A few placed bets, a few brazen challenges. Put on a show and make him forget the trick for the magic.  

The lining of his pocket screams like a child, his brother whining at him with one constant whirring of the motors in the phone, Loki shuts it off, shuts him off. With the false sense that Thor was now temporarily gone from his life, Loki spirals down in his debauchery. The last thing Loki feels is the immense satisfaction of a misdeed well done.  

\---

A rending, aching sensation assaults Loki’s whole body, a reveille of pain stirs him out of a bed, sitting in the middle of a room situated in god knows where. The entire room smells of floral air freshener and morning mist from a window left ajar to spill light into the room. Something in the back of Loki’s mind finds the scent familiar. A sharp pain in his temple sends him curling in on himself as he groans, banishing the thought.

Somewhere, Loki can hear a door opening, his hangover making it sound like the falling of an oak tree. Deciding that the best course of action was inaction, Loki stills and listens. The door to the Loki’s assumed resting place, opens and he hears footsteps approaching. A familiar voice rings in Loki’s cracked Liberty Bell of a skull. It feels like an icicle probing his brain.

“Loki, get up. I know you’re awake.”

A brief moment of trying to place the familiar voice, Loki settles on one name.

_Sigyn._

He decides again not to move, hoping she would take a hint and leave him alone.

She snorts and shoves Loki off the bed. What was intended to come out as vehement speech is muddled slurring from the exhaustion.

“Get up or I’ll call Thor to come get you if you really are that incapable of handling this.”

“No!” Loki sputters and lurches up onto his feet. The blood drains out of his face and he sits back on the bed with a thud, holding his head in both his hands.

“Yeah, I don’t think getting up quickly was a good idea, sport,” Sigyn says.

Loki could almost hear her rolling her eyes at him.

“Here, drink this. If you’re going to puke, you know where the bathroom is.” Sigyn shoves a water bottle at this despondent liquor soaked pile of Loki sitting on her bed.

Loki drinks the water, and for a moment he seems okay. Then a sudden buckling in his guts sends him to the bathroom. He falls to his knees, spraying vodka and the bilious solution of whatever he hadn’t digested.

On nights when Loki would lose that tight grip on himself that he always donned so proudly, he would wake up puking down the toilet of his guardian angel. This had only happened once or twice when Loki and Sigyn were younger, but something had been making the visits assume a frequent replay. Each time was like the playing of a video tape, Loki remembered less and less, the images more frayed each time he went through his stupors.

Sigyn threw him a ratty old T-shirt. It was more of a rag sewn into a body and sleeves, but it wasn’t soaked in Loki’s leakings, so it was definitely an improvement. Sigyn held a phone in one hand, calling up a taxi to bring him home. Met with a busy tone, she sat down and gave Loki the attention of a mother coaxing a child into admitting something wrong. “Mind explaining why I have to keep getting you, more and more often?”

Loki couldn’t answer. It was like a forgotten name just beyond the reach of his consciousness. On the tip of his tongue. Restlessness, no. Anger, no. Boredom. Each inquisitive grope Loki managed on his own psyche brought him a little closer, inching to the truth.

Yet, nothing.

“If you don’t want to tell me that’s fine, but I think you ought to tell someone,” Sigyn chided.

“I’ll be fine,” Loki uttered, holding up the bottled water and taking another drink, hoping whatever effuse had come out of him had made it to the bathroom and wasn’t diluted in the water. Finishing his bottle, he exhaled and took a few dogged breaths, putting his bottle to his head in an effort to swindle whatever coolness was left in the plastic. His head pounded and his breath grew steady as he tried to calm himself.

Sigyn extended a hand full of aspirins. “Here, I’m just going to trust you don’t have a pill popping dilemma rolled up in your rap sheet of addictions somewhere and give you the benefit of a doubt.”

Loki took the pills, swallowing them between clenched teeth. His jawline was tense and grinding before he calmed himself and spoke.

“I don’t have any addiction problems,” he muttered.

“What’s that? Was that a statement of denial? I believe so.” Sigyn crossed her arms and stared at Loki, causing him to shift uncomfortably under her gaze. Worse than being falsely indicted was being enlightened to one’s own crimes by a best friend who he’d known since they were children. Loki viewed friendship as a liability and considering he called Sigyn a friend when his own family amounted to strangers, it stung to hear these things.

“I have it under control,” Loki tried once more to throw her off.

“The first step is admitting you have a-” Loki’s glare at her cut off the sentence. “Fine. I won’t bother you. But when Thor finds out, oh man. You better have your shit together, Loki. I’m serious.”

“The lummocks can’t tell his arse from his elbow. Getting his head around something as middle school level as addiction might be a bit hard for him. Wouldn’t want to shatter his little world of naivete.”

“Thor may not be the cleverest of people, but he cares about you.”

“Thor cares for me like a person cares for a child they sponsor from an ad on TV. It’s a distant pity that feeds his delusion of heroism. I’m not a brother so much as a stray animal he takes care of.”

Sigyn opened her mouth to say something, but closed it as Loki interrupted her.

“Stop. I’m too hungover to deal with this. Thanks for taking care of me…however you did. Wait. How did I end up here?” Loki’s face twisted with confusion.

“Well, It was about 2 AM, and I was, y’know, doing 2 AM things, like I dunno, sleeping, when you ass-dialed me. I knew you would be coming along soon after that so I stayed up and waited for your drunken assface to show up, as you always do.” Sigyn’s house had become his lighthouse. Stormy night, churning guts, all these were signals to go to the light. He had been doing this since before he knew what beer meant. Some old dependance he’d never been weaned off of. He was addicted to coming here, just like the alcohol, just like the gambling. He would deny it, all of it. As always.

Loki felt a cocktail of guilt and self loathing swell up in him. It tasted just like last night’s, wait, perhaps he had better get back to that bathroom again. He shook it off, swallowing and trying to bring up an apology. No, just vomit down there. He made his way back to the bathroom.

Sigyn stood at the door with her arms crossed. “Want me to hold your hair back?” she joked down at the spewing man.

“Just shut up,” Loki managed between his heaves.

Sigyn looked out the bedroom window. “I believe, sweet prince, your carriage awaits.”

A taxi that was a pallid, gross green and etched with “suburban transportation” in gaudy, racecar-number font sat out front. Loki staggered to his feet. Sigyn helped him down the stairs, trying to keep him stable enough not to flop down the stairs. Loki leaned in, pushing her with his weight.

“I can manage.”

_Thud._

Sigyn helped Loki back up from the floor at the bottom of the stairs.

“Yep. You totally can,” she snarked.

Somehow the two had managed to get outside, and Loki was stuffed into the taxi. Sigyn handed the cabbie some cash out of a pocket and directions, and they were off. The entire ride home Loki pressed his face against the cool glass of the window in a vain attempt to ward off the headache.

He sighed.

“Thor’s gonna kill me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dude-wrath: I liked writing in Loki’s ‘softer side’ if you’d call it that. I feel like this part kind of shows his vulnerabilities, and takes down a few of his boundaries he keeps up to show us his personality, and his relationship with Sigyn.
> 
> Lamebear: Yes we realized that there are a lot of inconsistent verb tenses. To be honest, we're not too overly fond of going back and switching it back again.


	4. Sleeping Under the Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki discovers his car's broken into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dude-wrath: Look out for tiny references in the text. I like to drop verbal Easter Eggs. It’s a bit hidden, so have fun.

The two reached the Odinson household.

The cabbie spoke, “I suppose this is where you’re getting off.”

Loki got out, his gait now almost normal, and made his way around back to avoid his family. He was planning on relaxing in his room, but dammit, there was the hammer again. Thor’s damn handyman. Each step he took drew him closer to the back door.

Conveniently, there stood Thor. Thankfully, he was too busy hammering away to notice Loki’s soft steps.

That option flew out the window.

_The window._

**_The window._ **

__

Loki looked up at the old tree going up to his room. It was an old oak tree that died some time ago, the family had jokingly referred to it as Yggdrasill. The tree had long served Loki as an escape route out of grounding as he was an angst-riddled teen. Now just to see if it could work in reverse.

_Nope._

Loki had taken branch after branch, but the rotted out innards of each antiquated arm he was grasping combined with his weight shattered the tree’s footholds. Loki descended, landing on a bed of grass. Falling like that, Loki could only feel the hard soil beneath. One tends to ignore the grass when they hit it at high velocity. Thor tore out of the door, hammer in hand.

“HYARGH!”

“AAAA!”

Loki made the gestures of a scared cat as Thor towered over him with a hammer. Thor saw his face in the light from the door, and retracted himself. “Tell me, Loki. Why do you choose to sleep outside? And,” he looked up to the tree, “while falling from such heights?”

Loki had given up and simply played off his brother’s joking by nonchalantly remarking, “Y’know, it was just such a beautiful night, I thought I was going to lay out under the stars, so I get up on the tree to take a closer look at them and, well.”

“You smell of alcohol. I may be a dull, but I’m not stupid, brother.”

Loki sank his head back. “Supposing you are right, I am capable of making my own decisions.”

“Why did you not answer my calls?”

Loki attempted a more sensible lie, “I had no network coverage.” Thor frowned. “Well, you are home now, brother. Let’s go inside and have some breakfast.” Thor pulled Loki up to his feet and guided him inside the kitchen.

“You know we should just buy a new door. You don’t have to keep repairing it.”

“I enjoy fixing things. There is no need to buy one when I can just fix it.”

“You’re always pounding on things with that hammer. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe it doesn’t work like it should?”

Thor placed a hand on the door frame. “I am fond of the house. It would be a shame to fill it with those new fangled appliances and such. Even if I wanted, there is not a mall near when I could buy one.”

Loki bit back a retort, something along the lines of “we could just order it online you dumbass”, and nodded.

The Odinson household is an old victorian styled home that could be described as “worn for wear by the more tactful.” All the money thrown into this old construct could not satisfy the walls that heaved and wept with the moisture; the roof that shed its shingles like a snake casting off scales of skin. Most of the house was a warped distortion in color and shape of its former self.

Despite its old age and crumbling foundation, Thor and Loki both loved the house to death. The Odinson family was by no means poor, but no money could buy a house matching the sentimental value of the relic they lived in. Thor and Loki spent hours running around between their parent’s legs in epic sagas, little feet pounding on the worn wood floor, attacking those big figures, those giants, with foam weapons. Carving out conquests on the carpet, exploring the yard in all its untamed glory.  

In a way, the house was the Odinson family. Their attachment to the dying, to disrepair. Thor’s attachment to his father, Loki’s attachment to his ruination, to betting, to alcohol, to Sigyn. Their world was crumbling apart, and here they were, clinging onto the columns with the chipping paint and chewed out wood and pestilent foundation.

The brothers went through the open door, finding Odin as he sat in his usual spot, an old leather armchair morphed into a mould of his shape from a committed symbiosis of chair and person. The leather has since grown so stiff that one had to question whether Odin shaped the chair, or the chair shaped him.

Thor smiled, pulling out a chair at the table. “Loki is home, father.”

A despondent scoff. Odin flips a page in his newspaper, reading sports. Loki isn’t surprised.

_A caring family, Thor?  Yep, I feel the love here_. Loki thought to himself. All he wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep until the sun came up again.

Odin looked up. “There’s a new horse joining the races this week.”

Thor perked up, slapping his brother on the back. “This interests you, doesn’t it? Go on, Father, please.”

“Unlucky Traveler, they call it, being ridden by a jockey named Svaðilfari.”

Loki was interested. A new factor in betting. This would change things. He would have to take a look at this new challenger himself. If the horse was really all that powerful, he might have a new something to rest his laurels and his clients’ money on.

His stomach churned again. Oh, right. Loki half ran, half stumbled to the bathroom upstairs in his room. He heard Thor lumbering up the stairs crying his name. Clenching his teeth, Loki ran out to his room, slammed the bedroom door, locked it, and returned back to the bathroom for another round of “let’s see how much of your stomach can you chuck up”. Checking out the jockey will have to wait until tomorrow.

He leaned over the toilet, spitting a somewhat less intense downpour. Gasping between breaths, he could feel his stomach hit empty for the moment. He went to the sink, splashing water on his face and looking at his reflection. His eyes were sunken pits, their emptiness emphasized by the darkness painted into his eyelids from exhaustion. Blossoms of veins crisscrossed his eyes like red spider webs. His face looked misshapen for his debauchery.  He shook it off, lathering a bar of soap in his hands to scrub off the filth from his face and the sandy discharge from his eyes.

Every part of Loki’s body screamed for sleep, for rest, more rest than he could physically provide. He shook it off. Today he had to be at the track. Today he would make his livelihood, he could not squander such precious time. His car was left at the bar. Fuck.

Loki assumed the car had been towed. It was then that he realized that all that money owed sat comfortably under the seat. Loki’s day kept getting better.

It was off to the impound today. Loki had exhausted his options. Thor was always overshadowing him and bearing upon him with that sickening shallow fraternity, he had no money for a cab, and Sigyn had cleaned up after him enough.

Loki waited until he heard Thor take his father back to work before he stuck his head outside his room. Checking the house to make sure it was indeed empty, Loki took a quick shower and change of clothes before running downstairs to eat a small breakfast. He realized he should retrieve his car sooner rather than later. He sighed and cleaned up before stepping outside.

 

The sunlight that scorched his retinas and the sound that burst his eardrums. He had to wander his way to the impound, step after step.

 

He arrives at the impound and is greeted by a sourfaced old cop sitting behind a glass barred window.

 

 

"I believe you have something of mine?" Loki says haughtily.

 

The cop raises an eyebrow. “Does it happen to be a smashed in Ferrari?”

A cold shock.

He stutters, “Wh-what do you mean?”

“We found a nice sport car near this bar outside of town with the windows smashed in. We got the call in around 2am last night from the bar owner.”

 

"M-my things-"

 

"If there was anything in there, its gone now."

 

“You DO have people investigating, right? Right?!” Loki said frantically.

“An investigation is underway, sir. But first, the fine for leaving the car there in the first place.” The old cop turns around and starts to dig around in the file cabinets.

Loki ran sweaty palms back over his hair.

_No, no_ , he thinks himself,  _The thieves wouldn’t know about the compartment. They wouldn’t have found the compartment even if they tried. That’s fine, just fine, no wallet, no cards, that’s okay. Credit cards can be canceled and that’ll be that._

Loki would have to phone someone to come with money, though. He always had to depend on someone. Loki thought for a moment. Looks like Thor would have to be his savior for the day. Loki thought to himself about how inflated Thor’s precious ego would be. Loki supposed everybody would win, and for once caved.

A few rings.

Someone picks up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lamebear: Loki's car is a Ferrari Scaglietti (http://www.carautoportal.com/car-images/ferrari/ferrari-612-scaglietti/ferrari-612-scaglietti-2008.jpg) because he makes a lot of money. I also edited a bit from my tumblr chapter to give a better sense of setting.


	5. Confounded Impounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor actually tries to use his brain to find out the car thief.

Thor worked days as a handyman and makeshift electrician for the town. He had learned enough of the trade to be dependable. Not the best, but the repairmen could go to with a budget. He was part of a four man band of ragtag workers, three weekend warriors who met their financial quotas with noncommittal odd jobs, and Thor. The three chided Thor as a manchild and in many ways they were right, but Thor was just as skilled, if not more, than they.

Today they were doing siding on some houses, then some landscaping, then maybe they would paint a house. People would call in, the four would show up, and things would be done. A payment would be handed in, and the four would move on.

Today was going to be different.

Thor’s phone rang a chorus of digital beeps. Thor picked up. “Hello, this is the Handymen Three, how can we-”

“Thor, it’s me.”

“Loki?”

“You really don’t bother checking caller ID, do you,” Loki said it as more a declarative statement than a question. He knew Thor better than that. Hell, he didn’t know how a normal phone worked, let alone his cell.

“What do you need, brother?”

“Some money.”

“How much?”

Loki grows more sheepish with each second as he counts the zeroes on the fine. “A few hundred.”

Thor squints his eyes and makes a face of bewildered curiosity. ”How did you come upon a need for this money?”

“I left my car at the bar, and I seem to have lost it. It’s a towing fine.”

“You must surely have some money.”

Silence.

“Loki, what happened to your money?”

“It was in the car, and just so happened to be… gone.”

“Did someone take it?”

“No, Thor. A monkey ate it,” Loki said sarcastically.

“Loki, be honest.”

“How dull can you be?! Yes, Thor. Someone took my wallet that was in the car, thus my money.”

Thor’s voice took on a serious inflection, “Do you have any leads?”

“Any leads-no, what are you talking about? Do I look like a detective to you? Jesus fucking christ, Thor.”

“I simply wanted to know.” Thor tried to calm Loki down. “Well, just wait there and I’ll come soon.”

Thor pushed the phone into his pocket, not hanging it up. Loki rolled his eyes at his brother’s ineptitude and hung up seconds after. Thor turned to his friends. “My dear friends, I’m sorry, I feel I must cut my time short today. My brother has caught himself in a mix up with money.”

The squat, black haired Hogunn snorted. “What’d your asshole brother get himself into this time?”

“It’s not like he doesn’t have money to get himself out of trouble anyway,” Fandral stated.

Thor became defensive. “Do not speak of my brother in this way. He is fallible as most men are, and he does not mean to behave as he does.”

Volstagg grunted, “It won’t help him much to have you clean up after every mess he makes.”

Thor stood up and his voice grew louder. “I cannot help it if he was robbed!”

He piqued the interest of the three.

Fandrall asked, “What did the police say?”

“My brother did not tell me how much besides that his wallet was stolen, but he seemed distressed nonetheless.” Thor put down his trusty hammer. “Now my dear friends, I must take my leave. Loki is waiting for me.”

“Hold up,” Hogun stated. “He messes with those bookie immigrants, right?”

“Yes.”

“I actually have a few debts I need to collect on. They aren’t exactly an honest group, and one would imagine they’ have something to do with it.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Hogun,” Fandral said.

“If you wish, we could offer to help Loki recover his wallet and money. I mean he is your brother, and whoever did that deserves a beatdown.” Hogun had a manic look in his eye.

“My friends, I appreciate your help. I will return after I have fetched my brother and we shall come back and discuss this.”

“I’m assuming you need the van,” Volstagg said. “Well, it appears we’ll be here for a while. Fandrall, occupy the people inside with your… you know.”

Fandrall smirked. “The way you guys peddle me to ladies houses and have me do this everytime you need extra time, I’d swear you were running a prostitution service.”

“I never said that!” Volstagg choked on a beer he was drinking, spewing a frothy fountain of it that caught in his thick mane. “Just-just distract them or something. Do your Fandrall stuff.”

“Very well.”

Fandrall sauntered inside to ask for a drink and Thor stepped into the van.

—-

Loki sat on a cold bench inside the hyper conditioned air of the impound. One would think such cold would be a welcome thing in the summer heat, but the cold was bitter and Loki was aching from sitting in it. Thor made a check for the fine and the two stepped out into the back lot to observe the car. It was an angular, slim car, like a muscle car but stripped of the muscle. It was colored a deep pine green with a metallic finish. The sides had been scratched and dust had stuck to it from the usually arid weather. The glass windows were smashed in, filling the seats with a glistening array of shards, shining outward in the beating sunlight.

“They couldn’t have bothered to clean up the mess, did they?” Loki said to no one in particular.

“Ah well, perhaps the police could find fingerprints or something,” Thor suggested.

“They tried,” Loki sulked. “They didn’t find anything besides this pen knife. And they didn’t find any fingerprints or anything on that either.” Loki waved a small plastic bag labeled “evidence” in front of Thor’s face.

“Where did you even get that? Isn't that off limits?"

 

Loki glared at him.

 

"Nevermind. Let me see this pen knife,” Thor said. “I swear I’ve seen it before.”

“You’ve seen many tools before, Thor. You’re a handyman. That’s the kind of stuff you work with. Looks just like a pen knife to me.” Loki dismissed his brother’s obvious statement and tried to think of a way to get him to leave him with his car for him to check his private alcove. A glove compartment of a glove compartment, a secret spot to store his ill gotten gains.

Meanwhile, Thor continued to strain his mind. He ultimately put the thought away. Loki was right, there has been a great number of tools he’s seen. There was something about that knife he just couldn’t place, but until he could think of something conclusive, he wouldn’t worry about.

“Brother, dear,” Loki said to Thor.

Thor looked up from his brooding. Loki rarely called him brother, let alone that add-on of "dear".

“Yes?”

“It would be great if you could go get me a cup of coffee.” Loki did his best to look tired and distressed.

“Oh, of course! Just wait here, I’ll be back soon!” Thor smiled brightly and trundled away to fetch his beloved brother some coffee.

“Two sugars, extra cream and three shots of espresso, please!” Loki cried after him.

Thor waved without looking back as he left the impound to the nearest cafe.

Loki looked quickly to the left and right. He then climbed into the car and pulled up the upholstery by a couple discolored threads sewn in. Reaching in his middle and index finger, he made a large enough space to reach a lever about the size of a thumbnail. Pulling it, he sees a drawer pop out from the base of the seat.

Nothing.

Loki wanted to tear the seats apart, to punch in the dashboard and pop the airbags, to push this stupid car off a cliff. Millions unaccounted for, crowds of people coming to collect debts. Some more violent than their passive betting would suggest. Loki counted down his options. His brother knew some toughs, but considering how many people he had to pay, and how many tough guys each of them would be able to send, it didn’t seem like a very good idea.

They had an army, he had…. a Thor.

 

Loki groaned inwardly.  _This is what I get for distrusting banks and being over-confident in my self._

_Think, Loki, Think!_  Loki’s heart rate increased. He’d have to find that money or make it back. Maybe some people hadn’t bet last time. He could milk them for a lot more than usual, and use the extra money to cover his loss. No, that would be impossible. Almost everyone had already entrusted him with the money he lost. He’d have to go to another venue.

The dog fights.

Lars’s rustic foreigner voice rang in his head as he remembered the scraps. Loki dug frantically through his pant pockets. Thankfully, he had shoved the small dirty napkin with the number along with his cell when he had changed.

By now, Thor was arriving with two cups of coffee. Loki quickly closed the compartment.

“Brother! I have returned with your coffee order, just as you told me to! Loki, what’s wrong?” Thor frowned at Loki’s furrowed brows.

“Nothing is wrong besides for my lost wallet and money and my smashed car,” he snapped.

“Oh.” Thor looked guilty for forgetting about his brother’s situation. He sheepishly hands his brother the cup of coffee.

Loki takes it, at first with loathing, but his expression softens, and he sips it, trying to disguise whatever gratitude he has for his brother. Even if he is dumb like a rock and has the vanity of Narcissus, he has still tried hard to help him. It was no lie that Loki envied and often felt a rage against his brother, but he never hated him. Today though, he felt a muted appreciation. However, as he saw the napkin working in his hand, he swiftly forgot about anything besides getting his money back. He unfurled the napkin, quickly using it as a cupholder with the number pressed against the burning styrofoam to hide it.

“I suppose we should bring your car to the garage to get it fixed,” Thor said as he poked the bit of remaining glass attached to the door frame.

“But money is still a problem,” Loki muttered. The more he thought about his growing debts, the more upset he got. This car problem was no help.

“All will be well, brother,” Thor said and patted Loki’s shoulder. “Father will help us out with fixing your car.”

Loki rolled his eyes. _I didn't mean my car, you dense fool,_ he thought to himself.

 

He scoffed, “Yes, I’m certain our loving father will be overjoyed by the notion of dumping hundreds of dollars into fixing a car for a son he doesn’t talk to.”

“Loki! Father would be willing to help. He is only ever so silent because he feels you desire independence. If you were to just ask for help, I’m certain he would be glad to give aid.”

Loki didn’t even want to think about his father at the moment. He wanted to storm the bar, and somehow trace those people who took his money. He needed to do something. The car could wait, even if it meant going in a busted up wreck. The thieves didn’t seem to care about his windows. Loki had no money to hide.

Having nothing was liberation, falling so low was like dropping in a roller coaster.

It was a painful thrill to lose.

Loki had never really gambled until now. Those were just games. Figure out where the hooves would fall, what the mud would do. Now he was going all in. Powerless, like these people around him.

Loki pulled out a set of keys and opened the door, brushing out the glass to reach the ignition.

An officer stopped him from leaving. “Sir, I don't know how you got this, but we need to keep this as evidence.” The officer was about to pry the knife from Loki’s hand.

Loki stopped him, slipping the knife into his pocket. “Nevermind this old thing. It was a gift from an old barmate. It has a tendency to slip out of my pocket from time to time.”

The police officer eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but let it go and went on to observe the car. “Did you have any other valuables in the car, sir?”

Loki didn’t want to drop any further hints to lead them to his illicit gambling habits, but at the same time, he’d already told the guy in the building. Last thing he needed was conflicting stories. “Ah, it appears not. I swore I left some money in here. It appears I must have had it at home.”

“Are you certain you didn’t leave it in the car?”

“Fairly so.”

“You can come back to claim the car in a few days, but we need to look at it for a while to determine what we can from our findings.”

“Alright. Contact me when you have it ready.”

“We will do that.”

Loki walked off the lot, with Thor as they headed towards the van. Loki’s free hand not holding coffee was stuck in his pocket, gripping that knife.

_I’ll carve out the bastard with his own knife._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dude-wrath: Well I have no idea how to legal system. I was under the impression parking fines were thousands of dollars. I will totally do fine in adulthood, I’m sure of it.   
> Lamebear: Don't worry, I've watched enough Bones, CSI:NY, and Law and Order to bullshit this.

**Author's Note:**

> Lamebear: Okay story time friends, this started out as a conversation Jory and I had about Loki’s bad bets (the whole horse thing and the three gifts). He then suggested an AU where Loki was a gambling addict lol And because I knew I couldn't write jack shit so I pressured him to write for me. I hope you enjoy it because I totally enjoyed watching Jory write as I commented lol
> 
> Dude-wrath: I actually threw out the AU as a joke, but it was suggested that it became a thing, so I just rolled with it. It’s been great fun to write so far. I’ve been trying to fill it with nods and references to things (such as “mall near”, “Mjolnir”; Yggdrasil; etc). Lars is a friend of ours’s D&D persona. He’s not really that much of an ass, but putting a comic relief in the story didn't seem fitting at the moment.
> 
> Special thanks to Reuben for helping us edit this because we're grammar impaired!


End file.
